


Between the Lines

by Hevheia



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Artist!Yusuf, Canon Temporary Character Death, M/M, Metafiction, Prince!Nicolò, Slow Burn, Story within a Story, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26584501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hevheia/pseuds/Hevheia
Summary: Yusuf and Nicolò are characters in a fairy tale, designated by their Narrator to be sworn rivals, fighting over the heart of a woman. (In the blank space between the lines, however, a whole different story unfolds.)Or: what happens if your characters decide to hijack your story.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 119
Kudos: 194





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time, there was a simple artist by the name of Yusuf. Yusuf wasn’t born in wealth -beyond his paint and brushes he barely had a thing to his name- but he was content. He had a roof over his head, he had food in his belly most of the days and he could spend his time doing what he loved most. He believed that if he provided kindness to the world, the world would give it right back, so that is what he lived by.

He had everything he would ever need. Or so he thought.

His story begins on a day like any other. He has taken up his usual place on the market to sell his paintings and wooden sculptures and other tokens and trinkets he has fabricated. He loves to experiment with new materials and techniques which leaves him with quite the collection of small art pieces in various degrees of craftsmanship and success. 

He’s talking to Andromache and Nile, a blacksmith and a tailor who have their stalls on either side of him, when he catches sight of two figures strolling between the tables and stands. A woman, pretty like the first blooming flower in spring, with golden hair and soft round cheeks like apricots, walks graciously over the cobblestones like a nymph in the woods. A man with a stern face, combed back hair and broad shoulders follows the woman with his hands behind his back, looking around with a slight frown.

Yusuf is not the only one who notices the pair. All around, heads are turning, but the man and woman don’t seem to notice the attention. 

“Yusuf, are you listening?” Nile asks. 

“What? Oh no, sorry, I didn’t catch that last part,” Yusuf says, because he has indeed very rudely not listened to anything she has been saying for the past two minutes.

Andromache turns her head to follow his gaze. “Either they took a wrong turn, or they love to be terribly overdressed,” she remarks. 

Only now does Yusuf realise that’s what makes them stand out so much. The woman is wearing a bright blue dress that despite its simplicity must have cost more than Yusuf could scramble together in a whole year, and the man wears a suit so impeccably white Yusuf could never even dream of owning it. 

“Who?” Nile asks, craning her neck to see what all the fuss is about. When she spots them, her mouth forms a little o. “They come to the market like that? Who are they?”

Andromache shrugs. “No idea, but I bet they have bags of money desperate to be spent.”

And with that, the three of them take post again since the pair is drawing near. Andromache’s vending tactic is to have no tactic at all. She lets her and her wife Quynh’s craftsmanship speak for itself and it always does the trick. It does not surprise Yusuf in the slightest. Andromache and Quynh have been around the world and back and all the experience and influences they gained are visible in everything they make. There’s armour that reminds Yusuf of home and weapons he has never even heard of and everything is crafted with such carefulness and precision they are of a quality like no other. Honestly, it’s a great mystery to him how royals from all across the continent are not fighting over their services.

Nile on the other hand, is a clever vendor. She only has to take one look at a bypasser to pick out the perfect fabric for them. She calls them over and asks questions and talks to them, showing them fabrics one moment and taking their measurements the next. She’s thoughtful and passionate in her work which makes her customers always come back for more. Yusuf is one of those customers himself, somehow Nile always knows how to make his clothes fit like a second skin, and now he is so spoiled he can’t wear anything else.

And then there’s Yusuf himself. His paintings and other pieces of art often draw the attention and he latches onto that with his natural charm. Few people can afford art, though, so they walk right past his stall more often than he likes. But some of them linger, eyeing something they find beautiful but know they can’t afford. Yusuf calls them closer and offers a discount, or even proposes a trade if they have no penny to spare. Often he makes a quick charcoal sketch in addition, just to make them smile and forget about their worries for a little bit. Andromache looks at him with tight lips as he gives away yet another one of his pieces for much less than what it’s worth, but she doesn’t say anything. She can’t disapprove of him wanting to help those in need in the little ways he can, but Yusuf knows she’s worried about his own financial state. Sometimes she brings an extra loaf of bread and shares it with Yusuf, and he gratefully accepts it.

As was expected, the nicely dressed pair don’t buy anything at Andromache’s stall. They don’t strike the types to be shopping for weapons at the moment, though the man’s gaze does linger on a longsword, admiration evident on his face. 

“Five gold for the sword,” Andromache says. Yusuf smiles secretly, it’s three gold above her usual price for such a refined weapon. 

The man glances at her and looks back at the sword, nodding to himself as if he spends five gold on a longsword every day. But then he straightens his back, says in an accent “Maybe another time” and moves on.

In the meantime, the woman has reached Yusuf’s stall. Her mouth opens in silent surprise and wonder as her eyes land on Yusuf’s work. With twinkling eyes, she steps closer and marvels at the beauty in front of her. Her delicate fingers hover over a small painting of a landscape. 

“Nicolò, come look,” she calls out to her companion. The man, Nicolò, looks up and comes to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder. “Aren’t they extraordinary? Look at those colours.”

Nicolò glances up at Yusuf for a moment. (Bright, piercing blue-green eyes that make Yusuf’s recently acclaimed colours seem flat and dull.) 

_Don’t interrupt me._

(I’m sorry.) 

_Let’s move on._

“Yes, they are quite good,” Nicolò says.

“Quite good? They are more than simply ‘quite good’.”

Yusuf watches them patiently. He has mastered the art of knowing when it’s the right time to intervene. 

The woman’s attention shifts from the landscape over some portraits -’marvelous, those eyes!’- to a small sculpture of a girl with a rose in her hand. She reaches out, but pauses before taking it. She looks up at Yusuf, “Can I?”

“Of course,” he says with a smile and an encouraging gesture of his hand. 

She takes it and strokes the girl's cheek with her finger, then turns it this and that way to admire it from all sides.

“Would you like that one?” Nicolò asks. “I will buy it for you as a gift.”

The woman’s face brightens as she smiles, lights up like a warm summer afternoon. It warms Yusuf’s chest. 

“To which lovely lady will this lovely lady be gifted?” Yusuf asks while Nicolò is counting out the coins.

Nicolò opens his mouth to answer, but the woman is first. “Catherine.”

Nicolò eyes her for a moment and his mouth tightens, but he doesn’t say anything and hands over the money to Yusuf. (Warm skin brushing his like a feather, Yusuf has trouble focusing on the lady in front of him.) 

_No, he does not. In fact, he has only eyes for her._

“Well, Catherine, I kindly ask you to take good care of this little lady so her rose won’t wilt and fade. But I have a feeling she is in the best of hands.” He smiles warmly at her and she looks back with a surprised shyness.

“Thank you very much,” Nicolò says stiffly, casting a cold look at Yusuf. He turns to his companion, “Come, Katerina, let’s move on.”

They discuss Nile’s fabrics for a while, but don't buy anything, and Yusuf watches them until they disappear in the crowd. Catherine looks back at him from time to time, their eyes meeting in furtive glances. (But for some reason, Yusuf secretly wishes it were those mysterious blue-green eyes glancing back at him.)

***

Four days later, Yusuf is surprised when he spots a fine jacket, red this time, between the simple and often worn-out shirts and vests and dresses.

“Didn’t think to see him back,” Andromache mutters, having noticed it too. 

Nicolò is clearly searching for something, his face scrunched up as he looks around in the beaming light of the sun. (An odd, almost startled yet hopeful feeling sparks in Yusuf’s chest when) Nicolò catches sight of something in Yusuf’s vicinity and resolutely makes his way towards it. 

He stops at Andromache’s stand and politely nods at her in greeting. “Good day, my lady, I stopped by some days ago and I was wondering if you still have a particular longsword. One with engravings in the-”

“Still five gold,” Andromache interrupts him while she retrieves the sword from somewhere behind her. The corner of her mouth quirks up. “I suspected you might be coming back for it.” 

Yusuf huffs a laugh and shakes his head a little which earns him a glance from Nicolò. His eyes then fall on Yusuf’s art displayed in front of him and his eyebrows rise for a second. He turns to Andromache again. “Could I hold it for a moment, please?”

Andromache hands him the blade. “Of course. Just be careful not to cleave anyone’s arm off.”

It is a joke, but Nicolò looks around carefully to be certain there are no people walking too close by when he takes the sword from her. He bounces it a little in his hands, considering the feel and the weight of it. He does some small swings, careful not to hit anything. Yusuf leans his elbow on his table and rests his chin in his hand as he watches. It is clear from his movements that Nicolò has a lot of experience, the sword moves with an ease as if it’s a part of his body. In a fight, he would be an opponent to be feared.

When he is done, he smiles to himself and nods. (It is a small, private smile, but still it doesn't fail to light up his whole face, revealing a warmth and softness hiding behind his rather stiff demeanour.)

Nicolò compliments Andromache on her astounding work and buys it. He fastens the sheath around his belt and then, to Yusuf’s surprise, makes his way over to Yusuf’s stand.

(Yusuf straightens and smiles. “That was impressive,” he says.

Nicolò blinks at him in confusion, until Yusuf glances meaningfully at the sword at his side. “Oh that,” he says. “Thank you, it is an astonishing weapon.” 

For some reason, something flutters in Yusuf’s stomach as he is granted one of Nicolò’s small, almost shy smiles. How his fingers ache for some charcoal, for some paint-)

_What have I told you about interrupting? Stop it._

Yusuf straightens and smiles politely, because that’s what he does to customers.

Nicolò gives him a short nod in greeting like he did with Andromache. “Do you take commissions for portraits at the moment, mister...?”

“Yusuf,” Yusuf says, “al-Kaysani. And I do,” Yusuf adds, wondering where this is going. It has been ages since he was last commissioned for anything.

“Good. Then I would like to commission one.”

“Of you?” Yusuf asks. (Yusuf hope-)

“No, of…” Nicolò hesitates for a second, “Catherine. She is quite enamoured with your little sculpture and has told everyone about your paintings. I would like to give it to her as an early wedding gift.”

“Oh, you two are engaged? Congratulations,” Yusuf says as Nicolò nods. He thinks of that golden hair, those apricot cheeks and delicate fingers. He swallows away the disappointment though he doesn’t know where it came from so suddenly. “When would you be coming down to my atelier?”

“Actually, I think it might be better if you came to Catherine’s. Do not worry, everything you need will be provided.”

Yusuf blinks for a moment. “All right. Of course. So when would you like me to start?”

“Would Monday suit you? I do not wish to keep you from your shop here.” Nicolò gestures at Yusuf’s quite ramshackle and absolutely overstuffed stand.

“No, Monday is perfect. I was planning on working on some projects next week anyway, so it’s no bother.”

“Excellent,” Nicolò says with a nod. “Then we will expect you at the palace in the morning. A good day to you, sir.”

He is gone before Yusuf can remember how to speak. When Nicolò is out of earshot, Nile storms to Yusuf. 

“Did he just say the palace? As in, the actual, real, royal palace?” she asks.

Yusuf slowly turns his head to look at her. “I- I think he did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, I'd absolutely love to hear it!
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://nickydestati.tumblr.com).


	2. Chapter 2

As it turns out, Catherine doesn’t only live in the palace, but she is, in fact, the princess. Yusuf feels quite stupid for not recognising the name and connecting the dots. Only a few months ago, the town had been buzzing with the rumors of her engagement to some foreign prince. And when it was confirmed some time later and a visit of the prince was announced, it had been the talk for weeks. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Though, in his defense, Andromache and Nile didn't pick up on it either, so at least he isn't the only one who's stupid.

And now here he is, standing in front of the heavy gates, about to see what lies beyond them after years of living in their shadows. Nile insisted on making him a new outfit, but he politely declined. He does not go to dine with the royal family, he has to paint, so he needs clothes that can be ruined without fretting. 

The gates open for him. He takes a deep breath and steps through.

A servant is waiting for him, welcomes him as if he’s an actual nobleman and leads him over the courtyard to the palace. It is quite a sight to behold, towering over him with spires reaching for the clouds and standards waving. It is bigger up close than Yusuf expected. He faintly wonders what people do with all that room inside.

Apparently, they leave quite a bit of it empty and decorate the rest with statues and candle stands. Each room is as extensive as the one before, most of them larger than Yusuf’s whole house. The walls are either taken in by large windows or paintings reaching from floor to ceiling. Yusuf forgets to keep up with the servant as he marvels at them. If they can afford these, why would they ever hire _him_? It is both flattering and absolutely terrifying.

The servant softly clears his throat which makes Yusuf startle. He smiles sheepishly, vaguely pointing at the masterpieces around him and steps in line again.

Maybe he should have let Nile make new clothes for him after all. Even compared to the servants walking around the palace, he is terribly underdressed. He tries to engage in small talk with the one leading him the way, but is met with short, diplomatic answers, so he soon gives up. 

After some more rooms and hallways smelling of roses and wooden flooring, the servant signs for him to wait. He knocks lightly on the door and goes inside as a voice calls for permission. Yusuf waits outside and idly looks around the hallway while voices inside talk indistinctly. 

The door opens again and a respectful nod of the servant bids him to come inside.

He steps into -surprise, surprise- another large room. It is bright with tall windows stretching out across two of the four walls, setting the room alight in such a way that makes Yusuf’s painter-heart happy and eager. In front of him, everything is set ready. There is an easel that seems to be a masterpiece of woodwork in itself, entirely different from Yusuf’s own chipped and stained one. On a table next to it stand paints and brushes in every colour and size Yusuf can imagine, a royal collection that lives up to its name. In front of the easel, a lush chair is set ready for his subject, but it is still empty.

“Mister al-Kaysani,” a voice to his right says.

As he turns his head, his already overjoyed heart flutters again at whom he sees. (But he has to tear his eyes away to Catherine approaching him first.) _No. His eyes were on her all along._

If he thought her dress at the market was fancy already then this one is outright luxurious. It’s a deep green with golden details and lace finishings and a skirt so wide it must be very impractical. It rustles as she steps towards him.

Her wide smile brightens the whole room and Yusuf can’t help but smile back. Her hair is done up in an elaborate hairdo, one perfect curl left out to be draped elegantly over her shoulder, making the soft features of her face stand out.

“Welcome,” she says, her voice like a beautiful melody of a morning bird. “I am eternally grateful that you want to do this.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Yusuf answers. He gestures at the easel and the materials set out for him. “These are the best working conditions I have ever had. Definitely better than standing on the market all day.”

Catherine’s smile widens at his joke and she opens her mouth to say something, but Nicolò cuts in as he steps closer.

“Thank you for making it on such short notice. Shall we start now the light is still favourable?”

And with that, they go to work. Once Yusuf has everything ready, Catherine sits down in the chair.

“Can you turn a little to your left?” Yusuf asks. “Perfect. Now, eyes on me.”

Yusuf starts with the rough outlines. He watches her carefully, how everything is measured in relation to each other. Where the tip of her fine nose is situated on her cheek, where the corner of her mouth should come, how her long neck gently slopes to her shoulder. 

Nicolò stays with them. Sometimes he paces the room behind Yusuf or looks out one of the windows. Most of the time, though, he watches Yusuf work. Yusuf is very much aware of his looming presence behind him, watching how Yusuf's hands get to know his fiancée’s face intimately as they sketch it out. Yusuf wonders why he is staying at all (though he can't say he minds).

He is able to get some of the rudimentary work done by the time he has to stop for the day. 

“Leave it. A servant will take care of it,” Catherine says as he is ordening and cleaning what he used.

Yusuf feels uncomfortable thinking of someone else cleaning up after him, but doesn’t want to contradict the princess so he leaves everything as is. 

“So how does it look?” she asks him with an amused arched eyebrow as he steps closer to say his goodbyes.

“It’s too early to say, I’m afraid,” he says. She offers her hand and he takes it and gently presses a kiss to the back of it. He looks up at her, not letting go of her hand. “It takes time to capture a beauty such as yours and do it justice.”

She opens her mouth but not a sound comes from it. For a moment their eyes lock, but then there is a shuffle behind them and Yusuf remembers Nicolò. (Remembers? As if he can forget him!) Yusuf _remembers_ Nicolò and lets go. He takes a step back.

“And of course, I would not want to spoil the surprise of your fiancé,” he says. 

“Of course,” Catherine says and swallows as she smiles. She calls out for a servant to show Yusuf out. With a slight bow, Yusuf follows him. Before he goes through the door, he glances at Nicolò whose cold gaze watches him intently. Yusuf looks away quickly and leaves.

The next day, (Yusuf feels a sting of disappointment when) Nicolò isn’t there. Yusuf is relieved, because he can work now without someone else making him so self-conscious about it.

“Oh, I told him he didn’t have to come every time,” Catherine explains when he asks about Nicolò’s absence. “He has enough duties to attend to and I don’t wish for him to feel obliged to be here and waste his time.”

Yusuf hums in understanding and narrows his eyes a little as he considers the right base colour for her dress.

“And, if I’m honest,” Catherine continues, her hands picking at her skirt before she catches herself, “he made me quite nervous yesterday standing around like that.”

“Nervous?”

“Yes. Oh, don’t get me wrong, please. He is very considerate and generous and handsome. And I know I am very lucky my parents have arranged a marriage with him and not some old baron seeking to increase his influence.”

“But?” Yusuf asks and pauses his brush to look at her with raised eyebrows and a knowing smile.

Catherine laughs and casts her eyes down at being caught, her cheeks colouring with an adorable blush. “But I never know what is going on in his mind. I have no idea what he thinks of all this or what he feels about me or any of it.”

“He’s a man of little words,” Yusuf remarks as he gently strokes the canvas.

“Yes, he is. It’s just that it seems like… like…”

“He doesn't understand you,” Yusuf says at the exact same time as Catherine says “He doesn't understand me.”

Catherine looks at him in surprised wonder. Yusuf holds her gaze, but then she looks away and swallows.

Silence falls over them, and the strange tension in the air lingers. 

When they are finished for the day, Catherine thanks him. As he sets everything aside, she opens her mouth a couple of times as if she wants to say something, but never does. 

It is only when he has said his goodbyes and is already walking through the doorway that she speaks.

“Wait, mister al-Kaysani.”

“Yusuf, please,” Yusuf says and turns around.

“Yusuf.” She smiles slightly, wringing her hands. She stops herself, takes a deep breath and looks him straight in the eye. “As you may know, we are organising a masquerade this Friday. I would be delighted if you attended, too.”

Yusuf blinks at her for a moment, not sure if he heard it correctly. “A masquerade? Yes,” he says while a smile slowly spreads on his lips. “Yes, I would be delighted, too. Thank you so much for your kind invitation.” 

They share a private smile and with a last bow of his head, Yusuf follows the servant.

***

“Nile! I need your help!” Yusuf yells as he sprints over the market.

Nile is just putting everything away for the day, almost ready to return to her workshop, but she looks up at his voice.

He stops at her stand, out of breath, and puts his hands on her table.

“What's happened? Is everything alright?” she asks, a worried frown on her face.

“No, I’ve been invited to the masquerade.”

“The masquerade?” Her eyes widen and she raises her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Yes, the masquerade. And I don’t have anything to wear!”

Nile’s expression shifts into a resolute determination. “Help me carry these,” she says and gestures at her fabrics. “We have to get to work.”

Nile already knows Yusuf’s measurements, but still she takes them again back at her workshop. It has to be perfect, is all she says as an explanation. She shows him some of her finest fabrics and after Yusuf has explained a little what kind of clothing he has seen at the castle, he trusts her to pick the most suitable ones. She quickly sketches a design for him and after some suggestions and alterations, they’re both pleased with the outcome.

Nile works day and night on it and because she’s an absolute genius, it is ready by Friday afternoon. 

Yusuf comes to pick it up right away. He didn’t need to go to the palace since they’re too busy preparing for tonight. “I can’t thank you enough,” he tells Nile, “you’re incredible. I’ll pay you as soon as they have paid me for the portrait.”

“Yes, yes I know. Now try it on before you throw all those compliments at me,” she says, but Yusuf notices the proud gleam in her eyes.

He does and once again he’s in complete awe of Nile’s skill. She’s still so young, but she can already create masterpieces.

The clothes are made of beautiful deep purple velvet. The trousers reach to just under the knees and he has to wear tight white socks beneath that accentuate his calves in a very nice way, if he may say so himself. His jacket is adorned with elegant yellow flowers along the edges and the same flower pattern returns across the entirety of his waistcoat against a white background. Yusuf is speechless as he looks in the mirror. He will fit in perfectly, Nile has turned him into a prince. 

Nile watches with crossed arms, admiring her handiwork.

“Thank you, Nile,” Yusuf whispers as he looks at her in the mirror. “Your father would be so proud.”

A veil of sadness takes hold of Nile’s eyes and she purses her lips. She nods and tries a smile. “I know.”

They stand in silence for a while. Then Nile says, “And what about a mask? I’m not very familiar with them. I can try to-”

“No, no, that’s alright,” Yusuf wipes away her worries. “Princess Catherine gave one to me.” He walks over to his clothes, glad he thought of bringing it with him. He puts it on and goes back to the mirror.

He laughs. “I’m glad it fits with the rest.” 

And it does. It’s a golden mask covering only the upper half of his face. There are vines with small flowers curling beneath his eyes, and on his forehead in the middle stands a beaming sun.

“Look at that. No one will be able to take their eyes off of you,” Nile teases.

Yusuf laughs, though it is only one person he wishes would not take her (his) eyes away from him.

“Are you ready for your masquerade, my lord?” Nile asks in her poshest voice.

“I certainly am, my lady,” Yusuf says and takes her hand, his other hand behind his back, as he bows and kisses it lightly. They manage to stay serious for exactly one second before they burst out laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From next chapter on we'll get more Yusuf and Nicolò interaction, bear with me! ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank the song Lucrezia Donati by Bear McCreary for providing the PERFECT vibe for the last scene of this chapter. <3

As Yusuf arrives at the palace that night, he finally understands why they need all that space. The great ballroom is teeming with people and so are the adjoining rooms. It is a tableau of vibrant colors and powdered cheeks and white wigs, and the air is filled with talking and laughter.

Faces turn to Yusuf when he makes his entrance, eyes latching onto him with interest and haughty calculation. Yusuf tries not to let it show how much all those masked faces unsettle him and walks on like he knows where he is going and what he is doing, trying to mimic the prideful and graceful gait of the aristocrats around him.

Somewhere in the ballroom, a string quartet is playing a beautiful melody that is drowned out almost completely by all the chatter. No one is dancing yet. 

Yusuf takes up a spot against a wall, needing a moment to himself and get a feeling of the room. He gratefully accepts a glass from a servant passing by and takes a sip. He makes a face at the unexpected taste on his tongue. Even the drinks taste expensive.

“This your first time?”

Yusuf startles and almost spills his drink. He looks to his right where a man with a light green and silver mask is slouching against the wall, almost empty glass in hand. He should look very unaristocratic in the way he’s standing, but somehow he can pull it off. 

“Is it so obvious?”

The man huffs in amusement. “You’re one of the few people here with still a hint of authenticity around you. When you’re stuck here long enough, you’ll get an eye for that. Though I hope you never have to.” He downs his glass and immediately switches it for another as a servant passes by. “My name’s Sebastien.”

“Yusuf,” Yusuf says as he answers the polite nod of Sebastien.

“So what brings you here, Yusuf?”

“I was invited by Princess Catherine.”

“By the Princess herself, what an honour.”

“Do you know her?”

“I’m her cousin, though no one here will tell you that.” He gestures vaguely at himself with a lopsided smile. “Family disappointment and all.”

Yusuf doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so he just goes for “I’m her painter. Well, I mean, her fiancé asked me to do a portrait of her.”

“Oh you’re a painter,” Sebastien says, interest sparking in his voice. “So whom did you learn from?”

“Ehm nobody actually. I taught myself for the most part, though my grandmother used to teach me some things as well.”

Now Sebastien seems to be the one who doesn’t immediately know what to say in answer. He laughs after a moment. “Finally someone refreshing here.” He raises his glass to Yusuf. Yusuf raises his own glass in answer with a chuckle and they both take a sip. Well, Sebastien takes more than a sip but that’s another matter.

They talk for a while about art and Yusuf asks him about the people around them to which Sebastien answers only too gladly in that cynical way of his, until there is some commotion further down the ballroom.

“Ah, seems like it’s time to dance,” Sebastien remarks and points with his glass to the centre of the room.

Yusuf follows his gesture and sees that the crowd is making room in the middle, standing in a circle around the edges of the room. They all bow when a couple of figures enters the cleared area. Yusuf hastily follows their example. Beside him, Sebastien only smirks in his glass.

The music stops for a moment before playing a stately melody. Yusuf cranes his neck to see something over the crowd. Two people who can’t be anyone else but the king and queen themselves, are dancing in the middle of the room. It is nice to watch, they both clearly have had a lot of experience and their luxurious clothing and elaborate masks only increase the grandeur, but still Yusuf can’t help but think it all looks a little stiff.

Another pair joins them and Yusuf’s heart leaps at the sight of Catherine. Where her parents are stiff and dignified, she moves graceful and lithe, making even the music come more alive. Her white and pink dress swirls around her as she dances across the room. She moves so effortlessly, with a humble smile about her lips that betrays she loves nothing more.

(But despite her beauty and grace, it is Nicolò who draws Yusuf’s eyes to him time and again. His clothes are of a deep, almost midnight blue with intricate silver patterns and his blue mask adorned with silver stars makes him look even more mysterious than usual. There is no mistaking that he’s leading Catherine, but he’s so attentive, watches her closely to lead her where she wants to go, to make sure she shines as she should, that it’s sometimes hard to tell. His hand is gentle yet strong on the small of her back. Yusuf wishes he-)

Yusuf wishes he could be the reason Catherine has that lovely smile on her lips.

The song ends and the two pairs bow for each other. The crowd applauds. When the music starts playing again, more couples join them. Yusuf steps closer to the dancing pairs, leaving Sebastien with an old friend of his who apparently still owes him money from one bet or another. He watches Catherine, follows her around the room with his eyes. When she switches partners after a while, hope flares in his chest.

(He starts making his way to where Nicolò just joined the people on the side-)

He asks a lady for a dance -he asks her name too, but forgets it embarrassingly quickly- and joins the dancing pairs. He knows how to dance and has been told he’s a great partner in a waltz, though his only feedback comes from some public parties in inns and on the market. Still, his dancing partner doesn’t complain so he considers that a good sign. 

While he dances, he searches for Catherine. When their eyes meet, he smiles hopefully at her and she grants him a smile and a promising nod in return. 

Once he sees she is parting from her current partner and thanking him, he leads his own partner to the side and thanks her for the lovely dance. Without waiting for an answer, he walks over to Catherine. With a bow he takes her hand.

“May I have this dance?” he asks, looking up at her.

“Of course.” She’s beaming, radiating loveliness.

“But, your Highness, it is my turn-” a man protests behind her.

Yusuf straightens and looks at the man, already leading Catherine away. “I’m terribly sorry. I’m her painter and the blush on her cheeks is just perfect right now, I have to study it immediately. I won’t take her long, I promise.” 

Catherine giggles and with that, they dance. The movements come naturally to Yusuf, as if he has done nothing else in his entire life, and they move through the room as if they are the only ones there. They stand a little closer to one another than is proper, but neither of them seems to notice or to be eager to change that. 

(Sometimes though, Yusuf catches sight of Nicolò over Catherine’s shoulder and his chest tightens. And for a moment he imagines another hand in his, gentle yet strong.) _No, only_ beautiful _Catherine, with her golden hair and rosy-_ (He imagines a flat chest against his own where his heart is pounding to reach the other. He imagines light green eyes watching him closely from between silver stars as he is led through the room to where he wants to go. And he shines, oh how he shines for him.) 

Yusuf can’t look anywhere but at _Catherine_. And they dance well into the night, all those who’re waiting their turn forgotten, because to them, there is no one else.

They both startle from their trance when Nicolò comes to reclaim his fiancée in the dance. 

“It is time for our closing dance, Katerina,” he says.

Catherine breaks away from Yusuf and looks at her fiancé. “Of course, Nicolò. I have lost track of time for a moment, it seems.” She turns to Yusuf and bows. “I thank you, mister al-Kaysani. It was lovely.” But the shimmer in her eyes tells him it was more than lovely.

Yusuf bows too. And with that, she is whisked away and all Yusuf can do for the remainder of the night is watch her and wonder if he has just lived a dream.

(The Narrator has gone to sleep. Come, hide with me in the blank space that follows this paragraph and see for yourself what happens between the lines.

Yusuf has retreated to the balcony because he needed to get away from the crowd and get some air. He’s leaning on his forearms on the wide balustrade and enjoys the view of the gardens bathing in the moon’s silent glow. Behind him, the masquerade is slowly coming to its end. There are still people chatting and drinking, some even still dancing, but the royal family has retreated already and more and more people are following their lead.

He smiles when footsteps sound behind him. “Has he given you the money in the end?”

“The money?”

That’s not Sebastien. Yusuf turns around and his heart stops when Nicolò is standing in front of him, outlined by the light from inside.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought it was someone else.”

Nicolò doesn’t answer. A soft, amused smile plays around his lips. “Care if I join you?”

“Of course,” Yusuf says quickly as he makes some room for Nicolò even though there is more than enough.

Nicolò steps closer and puts his hands on the balustrade, looking over the garden.

“It is nice out here,” he says with that accent Yusuf finds so pleasant to hear. “So quiet and peaceful.”

Now that he is freed from the Narrator’s watchful gaze, Nicolò looks more at ease than Yusuf has ever seen him. His shoulders have lost their tension and his posture is looser than before. A portrait of tender contentment. Yusuf wishes Nicolò’s mask wouldn’t be in the way to see that tenderness reflected on his face as well, softening his features.

Nicolò turns to Yusuf after a while. “I am Nicolò, by the way,” he says with a short laugh that buries itself straight in Yusuf’s chest to be treasured there forever. “I do not think I have properly introduced myself yet which is terribly rude of me.”

“That’s not your fault,” Yusuf says as he shakes Nicolò’s hand. 

“No, I guess it is not.”

Their hands linger for a couple of moments too long before letting go. They both turn to the garden again.

“I like your mask,” Nicolò says, pointing.

“Thank you, Catherine gave it to me.”

“Yes, and I gave it to her.”

Yusuf snaps his head to Nicolò. “So you chose it for me?”

Nicolò nods, a smugness about his mouth.

Nicolò choosing his mask… it makes Yusuf smile. “It matches with yours.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees how Nicolò’s smugness shifts into a shy fumbling. “Oh, I never thought of it like that.” But the way he is pointedly staring ahead of him, makes it clear enough he had.

Now it’s Yusuf’s time to look smug, but he doesn’t press the matter further.

“So Nicolò,” Yusuf says, changing the subject. “You know I’m a painter and I know you’re a prince, but what else do you like to do?”

“What I like to do?” Nicolò asks and Yusuf nods encouragingly. Nicolò tilts his head. “Nobody has asked me that before.” 

“Nobody?” Yusuf's heart clenches when Nicolò shakes his head.

“I am not the hero of this story,” Nicolò says. Not with any bitterness or anger, only as a plain fact. It is quiet for a moment as Nicolò considers his answer, looking off into the distance. “I ehm…” he falters. An excited smile dances around his mouth but he seems almost too shy to say out loud what he wants to say. “I like making stories.”

“A storyteller,” Yusuf says admiringly. “What kind of stories?”

Nicolò looks at his hands. “Oh, they are silly, really. I am no Vergil or Dante.”

“Who said you have to be?” It’s what his grandmother used to say to Yusuf whenever he felt insecure about his own art by comparing it with someone else’s. He can’t make out Nicolò’s expression enough -that damned mask-, but he’s fairly certain the same surprise can be read on it, followed by the same realisation. “I’m sure they’re better than you think,” Yusuf continues. “And if you love doing it, then that’s the only thing that matters.”

“Yes,” Nicolò says softly. “I suppose you are right.”

Silence falls and Yusuf feels the peacefulness of the garden and the night seep into his skin. But it is Nicolò’s presence too that brings a calmness to his heart he has rarely encountered before. They stand close together, almost shoulder to shoulder despite all the space that’s left there on the balcony. 

“I dreamed of your paintings,” Nicolò admits quietly. Yusuf turns his head to Nicolò and through their masks, their eyes meet. “I dreamed it was me posing for you instead of her.”

“That’s strange,” Yusuf says, not letting go of those shadowed eyes. “I dreamed the exact same thing.”

“So will you?” Nicolò blurts out. “Paint me?”

“And what will I get in return?” There is no chance Yusuf would say no to Nicolò, but Nicolò doesn’t know that. And Yusuf likes to tease.

“In return?” Nicolò blinks. “I can pay you. Tell me how much you-”

“No. No, no. I don’t need more of your money… Why don’t you pay me back in stories?”

“Stories?”

“Yes,” Yusuf says with a smile. “Then I can see for myself how silly they are.”

A slow smile spreads across Nicolò’s face and he laughs, nodding to himself. Yusuf wants nothing more than to make him laugh again. But Nicolò’s smile falters already and his mouth turns worried.

“But how will we do this? When? The Narrator, He will-”

“Come to my place when He’s asleep,” Yusuf says quickly, putting his hand over Nicolò’s on the balustrade without thinking. “He won’t look for us there, it’s all made of blank space. And in the blank space, we’re free.”

Nicolò stares at their hands for a moment, then he looks back up at Yusuf with such a tender and hopeful smile it sets Yusuf’s skin alight. 

“Yes,” Nicolò says. “I will meet you in the blank space.”)


	4. Chapter 4

“So, how’s our masked nobleman?” Nile asks the next day as soon as Yusuf arrives at the market, a wide grin on her face.

Yusuf laughs and starts putting everything ready. “It’ll take a lot more than going to one masquerade for me to become a nobleman.”

“And what about dancing with the princess all night?” Andromache inquires, casually leaning against the wooden post between their stands.

Yusuf pauses to look at her. He shakes his head a little and narrows his eyes at her. “How? How can you know that?”

She grants him a lopsided grin and an eyebrow-wiggle. “I have my sources.”

“Who- Never mind,” Yusuf sighs and continues to stall everything out. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nile says. “You did what now all night? Yusuf, is that true?”

“Well, it seems like that may or may not be true, yes,” he says as he gestures vaguely with a little chicken made of terracotta in one hand and a painting of a frog in the other. 

Nile stares at him with her mouth wide open. Her eyes move to Andromache in disbelief and back to Yusuf. “Yusuf!!” is all she can say. And all he can do is shrug at her and laugh because honestly he doesn’t know how it has happened either.

Then Nile comes closer and asks with a secretive smile, “Do you like her?”

Yusuf can’t hold back a smile and bites his lip. Nile’s laughter is so contagious she makes Andromache chuckle too. But then Yusuf sighs and shakes his head with a shrug, moving some of his artwork around. “It doesn’t matter. She’s engaged. I’m only a painter.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Andromache remarks and meets Yusuf’s eyes levelly. 

“It’s not that simple.”

“Nothing ever is.” She looks away at someone passing by in the morning cold.

“Anyway,” Yusuf says because he mustn’t consider impossible things, “it was a nice experience, but it’s nothing for me.”

“Why not?” Nile asks.

“I don’t know… The people, I think. They were so arrogant and judging. Although,” he smiles a little at the memory, “there was this guy who was quite fun to talk to. A cousin of the princess apparently, Sebastien.”

“Oh, you met Booker?” Andromache asks.

Yusuf turns to her, blinking. “You know the cousin of the princess?”

“Yeah, he always comes to Quynh to engrave his flasks. He must have at least a hundred of those things. He comes to us so his family won’t find out, even though I don’t know how he can hide such a collection.”

Yusuf stares at her for a moment, processing the information. “You are a woman of many surprises, you know that, Andromache?”

Andromache laughs. “Oh you wouldn’t even know half of them!”

Without answering Yusuf’s and Nile’s further questions, she pushes herself off the post and gets to work. 

On Monday, Yusuf returns to the palace. The peace and quiet have returned as if there were not hundreds of people here only a couple of days ago. Everything is clean and shines as if it’s brand new. Outside the huge windows, the sun plays hide and seek with the clouds. Not ideal for painting, but he’ll make it work.

His chest fills with warmth at the sight of Catherine and her bright smile. They greet each other with laughter and gentle touches and soon go to work in an amiable silence. Even though the clouds sometimes drift in front of the sun, it somehow never seems to disappear when Yusuf is looking at her. Her eyes shine enough for-

_You’re awfully quiet today._

(Hmm?)

_You. You’re quiet. You listen too well to what I’m saying. What’s wrong?_

(Would you rather have me interrupting you every sentence?)

_No, of course not._

(Well, go on then.) 

_Right. Where was I?_

(Something to do with her eyes?)

_Oh yes, her eyes!_ Her eyes are like- like... _No. Dammit, I forgot. You know what? Let’s call it a day._

(If you say so.) 

_Yes, I say so. Good night._

(“Yusuf?”

Yusuf’s heart skips a beat at the sound of his name. He quickly jumps up and opens the door.

“Nicolò,” he says. He cannot keep the smile from his face, but neither can Nicolò so it seems. “Come in, come in.” 

He steps aside to let him in. Nicolò wrings his hands from the cold outside and looks around, the smile slowly fading from his face.

“Sorry, it’s a mess in here," Yusuf says quickly. "I never have anyone over, so I usually don’t have to-” He hastily grabs some brushes and charcoal and paper and stuffs them away in wooden boxes and cabinets. It doesn’t do much good, though. 

“No, no, please,” Nicolò says, reaching out a hand to stop Yusuf. “It’s nice in here. Really.” He looks around, his eyes bright and twinkling in the candlelight before they land on Yusuf again. How Yusuf has missed those maskless eyes. “It feels alive in here.”

Yusuf's heart jumps to his throat as he fumbles for something to say in answer to the compliment. In the end, he settles for “Do you want some tea?”

“I would love some.”

When Yusuf returns with two steaming cups, Nicolò’s looking at the various paintings hanging on and standing against the walls. “These are all yours?”

“They are. Careful, it’s very hot,” he says as he hands Nicolò his cup. Nicolò nods in thanks and studies the paintings again.

“They are so different from anything I have ever seen.”

Yusuf lets out a short laugh and rubs the back of his head. “Yeah, I’m going through a bit of an experimental phase.”

“I like it,” Nicolò says and takes a step closer to a lake in bright yellow with dark blue woods surrounding it. “How you use the colours. It’s very… emotional.” He gestures absent-mindedly to his chest. “It goes right to the heart.”

As Nicolò stands there marvelling at his paintings, Yusuf can’t do anything but marvel at him. “Thank you, I’m glad you think that.”

Nicolò turns his head to Yusuf. “Have you sold many such as these?”

"No, actually. The Narrator doesn’t exactly like them, you know how He can be." Yusuf takes a sip of his tea, hissing as he burns his tongue. He puts his cup down on a stack of books and begins to rummage in some drawers. “So, shall we begin?”

“Oh, yes. Where should I sit?”

“Anywhere you like.” Yusuf waves his hand around the room as he opens another drawer with his other hand. He procures some empty sheets of paper and plucks some charcoal from a pile as well. “I’d like to do some studies of you first, if that’s alright. It helps to get the portrait right afterwards.”

By now, Nicolò is sitting in one of Yusuf’s couches, in the middle of a battlefield of colourful cushions and blankets. “Of course, whatever you need. Is this alright?”

“Perfect. Just make yourself comfortable,” Yusuf assures him. He saves a wooden tablet from the clutter on his desk to serve as a hard surface for the paper and sits down on a stool. “Ready?” he asks with a smile.

Nicolò smiles back and nods. “Ready.”

Yusuf sets the charcoal to his paper, studies Nicolò’s face, and begins. For the first few strokes, he is oddly nervous. His heart is pounding in his ears and he’s convinced Nicolò must hear it too. But after a while, he slips into the familiar concentrated trance when he’s drawing. His world narrows down to the paper beneath his charcoal, the lines of Nicolò’s eyes and nose and lips and hair and neck, the movements of his own hands as they follow all those lines. 

“You did not do them for Katerina if I remember correctly.”

It takes Yusuf a while to know that Nicolò means the studies. He’s engrossed in the shape of his eyes. For all their distinctive beauty, they are very hard to capture. “No,” he says eventually. “No, I didn’t.”

“The Narrator again?”

Yes, yes, like that. Looking at him through his lashes. Yusuf’s hand flies over the paper to chase this moment before it eludes him. With some delay, Nicolò’s words come through. An amused smile crosses Yusuf’s face. “Yes, it’s always the Narrator.”

Nicolò chuckles. If only Yusuf could draw faster than the wind. If only he could imprint any one of Nicolò’s expressions in his mind and recall them with lifelike clarity at any given time. If only they had more time. More time together.

“I’m sorry, I am disturbing you,” Nicolò says. “I will stay silent now.”

“No, no, you’re not disturbing me. Quite the contrary. I’m sorry if I’m slow to react, though, that tends to…” he falters for a moment as he draws the arch of Nicolò’s eyebrow, angling it just so… “happen,” he finishes with an apologising smile.

The corners of Nicolò’s mouth quirk upwards, his eyes soften and remind Yusuf of the calm night outside, of their night on the balcony looking out over a garden embraced in unconstrained contentment. Beneath Nicolò’s gaze, Yusuf suddenly feels too large for his skin. He has the sudden urge to reach out his hand and brush Nicolò's cheek and-

“Shall I tell you the story I prepared for today, then?”

Nicolò’s voice brings Yusuf back to himself. He lets the breath escape that he has apparently been holding and nods. “That’s a great idea.” He focuses on his paper again and decides to concentrate on Nicolò’s nose for the time being.

Nicolò shifts, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. 

“A long, long time ago, the Sun disappeared from the sky. Nobody saw it fall, nobody heard it cry out. It must have vanished during the dark, dark night when the stars take over.

“For the first few minutes, the people did not worry. Even if the Sun was a little later than usual, that did not need to mean anything, did it? But then a few minutes turned into more minutes, into half an hour, into hours upon hours. 

“The people cried out and panicked and prayed. Sun, oh Sun, come back to us, give us your light, give us your powers. Sun, oh Sun, why have you left us in this cold, dark night? 

“The king called an assembly, but what use were councillors and noblemen and knights when the Sun had gone away? The crowd roared for a solution. But what use was a king when he could not haul the Sun back to zenith?

“Chaos descended in that endless nightmare of a night. Crops failed, thieves and bandits lurked in every corner, people rebelled and despaired and feared. And fear does strange things to the minds of people.”

Nicolò’s deep voice is the most compelling music Yusuf has ever heard. He draws the outline of his lips over and over again.

“Then there was a man. A simple man who had never really achieved anything of note, and who was content with his ordinary life in the background of society. And the man looked around him and his heart broke at the sight of such darkness and fear, of their claws gripping in humanity’s back.

“One day he said, ‘What if someone goes to look for the Sun?’

“The people looked at him and cackled. ‘The Sun has left us,’ they told him. ‘The Sun is dead.’

“Still, the man remembered enough of the Sun’s light and still had enough of its warmth in his heart to have hope. So he packed his bag and left in search of the Sun.

“He roamed the vast plains of the Earth, all soaked in darkness. With no sun to follow, he let the stars guide him. If he listened closely, he could hear them whisper to each other.

“They led him through dark blue forests, along rushing rivers, across a lonely desert. He saw mountain ranges with white blankets sticking their heads through the clouds, he saw roaring waterfalls and felt their damp fog on his skin, he saw immortal trees with their feet in the ground for over a millennium. He saw the whole wide world. But even though it was all breathtaking in the eerie beauty of the night and starglow, he wondered how unfathomable it all must look bathing in sunlight.

“He walked on, listening to the stars. Silently, two years passed in the dark. He arrived at a village at the edge of a desert where everyone was blind and he asked for a couple of days of shelter. The villagers were hospitable and welcomed him in their midst, even giving him their scarce food and some fresh clothes. He slept well that stardown, with a belly full of food and a heart warm with company.

“The next starrise, he talked with the villagers and asked them about mysterious places, about their sudden blindness and strange occurrences since the disappearance of the Sun.

“Oh yes, the Sun, they said. After two years of darkness, it was hard to imagine there ever had been a glowing orb in the sky. No, they said, no there was only ever darkness.

“But one old lady took him aside and whispered of a shimmering cave, of a monster that was living inside of it and had blinded them all. 

“When he asked her how long it had been there, she said she did not know and hastily went away.”

The graceful movements of Nicolò’s hands are captivating. They are telling the story as much as his voice. Yusuf’s charcoal follows their gestures intently.

“He searched for the cave. It took him some hours, but in the distance, he noticed a faint glow. At first, he thought it was simply a campfire of hunters or other travellers, but as he came closer, it reminded him more and more of something from an eternity ago. It reminded him of daylight. 

“He drew closer, careful not to make a sound, mesmerised by the light like a moth to a flame. He had to close his eyes, though, for the light was growing too bright too quickly for his untrained eyes. So he paused to let them adjust.

“In the meantime, he listened for signs of the monster or warnings of the stars. But they were only singing.

“Carefully, he dislodged himself from the clutches of the shadows and stepped into the light. As he did so, a warmth caressed his skin. A warmth so familiar and so achingly missed that it drew a sigh from him.

“‘Is someone there?’ he called into the cave, this pocket of light.

“No answer came, so he went deeper. Around him, the quartz in the rock shimmered like diamonds.

“‘I mean no harm,’ he tried again, but still no answer came. So he went on and the warmth embraced him like a long lost loved one.

“He wanted to call again, but caught sight of a figure in the distance where the tunnel opened up into a larger room. He stopped, trying to see if it was the monster. Did it have three heads? Nine arms? Fire on its breath? But the room was too bright, almost blinding and he could not look at it for too long.

“His heart was pounding, but he put one foot in front of the other and made his way to the room, eyes fixed on the ground.

“A gasp made him look up, instantly followed by ‘Do not look at me!’

“Before he obeyed, he caught a glimpse of the figure. The one they called a monster but he would call a god. For such a breathtaking appearance could not be anything less than that. It was a man with curly hair and eyes like molten earth. His skin glowed, no, shone! He was the beacon, he was the brightness, he was the light. 

“It was him. It was the Sun.”

The way Nicolò almost whispered it. The way his eyes shone and his face was full of wonder and amazement as if he was standing in that cave himself, finding the lost Sun. The way the whole room seemed to hold its breath. The way Yusuf forgot to draw because how could he ever capture such a captivatingly beautiful sight?

“Our traveller cast his eyes down, barely registering that they stung and hurt. He could not believe it. He could not believe he had found the Sun. He fell to his knees, crying from joy, and pressed his forehead to the ground.

“‘Sun, oh Sun,’ he said, ‘I have crossed the world in search of you. I have listened to the stars and they guided me through dark blue forests, along rushing rivers, across a lonely desert. I have seen mountain ranges with white blankets sticking their heads through the clouds, I have seen roaring waterfalls and felt their damp fog on my skin, I have seen immortal trees with their feet in the ground for over a millennium. All of it I did to be with you. And how I wished I could have done it all with you by my side. Sun, oh Sun, tell me, are you hurt? Tell me, what made you fall from the sky?’

“And the Sun answered him, ‘I did. I fell from the sky myself and I am hurting. But I am hurting no more than when I still reigned the sky.’

“And the traveller asked, ‘Sun, oh Sun, why did you make yourself fall? Why did you hurt?’

“And the Sun answered, ‘Because I was alone. Because for an eternity, I have been given the sky but no one to share it with.’

“‘And what about the stars?’

“‘The stars are too far away. The stars only sing for each other.’

“The traveller asked, ‘So why are you hurting still? Why are you hiding?’

“And the Sun answered, ‘Because I hurt others. Because I blind the ones that come too close. Because I am cursed to be alone.’

“‘Are you going back to your seat between the clouds?’

“‘I cannot,’ the Sun said, ‘I cannot stand all the empty space around me. I cannot face the ones I have blinded. I cannot bear the sight of so much togetherness. At least, this cave grants me the illusion there is no one outside of it.’

“And the traveller asked, ‘Sun, oh Sun, if you are not leaving this cave, can I stay here in your warmth? For I have looked for it and longed for it, for it always hid my own loneliness in its light. Sun, oh Sun, I have missed you too dearly to leave you again so soon. Please, can I stay here in your warmth?’

“And the Sun let him stay, and the traveller lived with the Sun for six months.

“After one month, he asked the Sun to sing for him. And so the Sun did.

“After two months, he asked the Sun to laugh for him. And so the Sun did.

“After three months, he asked the Sun to blind him. And so the Sun did.

“After four months, he asked the Sun to embrace him. And so the Sun did.

“After five months, he asked the Sun to kiss him. And so the Sun did.

“After six months, the traveller asked in the Sun’s embrace, ‘Will you take me with you?’

“And the Sun asked, ‘Where to?’

“‘To your seat between the clouds. Then we are never alone again.’

“‘But we are not alone anymore now,’ the Sun said.

“‘Yes, my light, but the world needs your brightness to breathe. The world needs your kindness to bloom.’

“But the Sun despaired and cried burning tears, ‘I cannot take you with me. Two Suns would smother the world. Two Suns would make it wilt.’

“‘And what of the night?’ the traveller said. ‘Does the night not need someone to watch over it?’

“And the Sun rejoiced and laughed, ‘My heart, my light, my all, come reign the sky with me. Tell me, what will your name be?’

“‘I never had one,’ the traveller said.

“‘Then choose,’ said the Sun.

“‘Moon,’ said the Moon.

“‘Moon, oh Moon,’ said the Sun, ‘How could I have ever lived without you and your love?’

“And the Sun returned to the sky, shining brighter than ever before, making the crops flourish and the people sing and cry tears of joy.

“And the Moon arrived in the sky, tenderly watching over the night, slinking as it retreated into the warm love of the Sun and growing as it came back again.

“And between them, the Sun and his Moon held the Earth and all the creatures upon it in their gentle and loving embrace.”

As Nicolò speaks his last words, Yusuf draws the last lines of his face.

The candles are burning low by now and silence covers the room. Yusuf's vision is blurred by tears filling his eyes. He wonders if the Moon outside has been listening to Nicolò’s story as well.

The couch groans as Nicolò shifts. He clears his throat. “So… Did you like it?”

Yusuf looks up now, letting Nicolò see his shining eyes. He smiles with a shaky breath and says around the tightness in his throat, “Like it? Nicolò, I have no words to describe it. It…” He searches for words all the same. Moving, extraordinary, larger-than-life. Then he remembers what Nicolò said at the beginning of their night, and places his hand on his chest. “It goes right to the heart.”

Nicolò’s face fills with a quiet and shy pride, and he casts his eyes down at his hands with a smile. If Yusuf had any not-Nicolò-filled paper left, he would immediately start drawing again. Instead, he has to sit and watch and stifle the urge to brush Nicolò’s hair from his eyes.

Nicolò takes a deep breath and looks out of the window. In the distance, the sky is changing its colours. Nicolò’s smile fades from his lips.

“The blank space is running out. It is almost morning,” Nicolò says. “I will make you a new story tonight.”

“Then I wish it was tonight already.”

Nicolò’s eyes find Yusuf again and his smile returns. Even though Yusuf noticed the similarities between the Sun and himself, he cannot help but think he is the one who has finally found the Sun.)


	5. Chapter 5

“What are you doing?” Catherine asks as Yusuf puts his brush between his teeth and moves the easel closer.

Yusuf sets the easel down and takes the brush from his mouth before answering. “Moving closer to see the details better. I hope you don’t mind, if you do I’ll just return-”

“No, no, I do not mind,” Catherine says and her cheeks blush an adorable pink. “On the contrary.”

Yusuf’s heart flutters. He clears his throat and focuses on blending the colours for a moment to calm it.

“Now, look closely at me, I will start with the eyes,” he says as soon as he has gathered himself.

She nods and their eyes meet and Yusuf has to muster all of his concentration to not get lost in hers. What would it be like to be able to do it, get lost in them? What would it be like to have her gaze on him every morning and every evening and every moment in between? With a start he realises what is happening to him. What has already happened to him. What his heart is trying to say with every beat. They look at each other and with every stroke of his brush he falls more in love with-

(Do they ever talk?)

_What?_

(Talk. Do they ever talk?) 

_What do you mean ‘do they talk’, of course they talk!_

(What about?)

_About… lots of things. The palace and the masquerade and the… weather._

(The weather?)

_Yes, the weather! And about… about Nicolò of course. How cold and rigid he is._

(Only because you make him so.) 

_What was that?_

(Nothing. Carry on.)

_I will, yes, stop interrupting. You were doing so well, please keep it up._

When her left eye is finished, he moves to her right. But an escaped strand of hair is bothering him, so he reaches out his hand.

“May I?” he asks as his fingertips almost brush her skin.

“Yes,” she whispers.

Gently, he brushes her hair behind her ear. He cannot seem to take his hand away. This close, he can smell her rose perfume and see every freckle dusting her nose. Without meaning to, he leans in closer and so does she. Closer, closer, closer until their lips-

(The door opens-)

_What have I told you?_ I _am the master of this story here! But now you say so… that's an excellent idea._ Yes, the door opens! 

Yusuf steps back as if bitten by a snake. Catherine’s eyes snap to the door, for a second horrified before she can school her expression into an innocent smile.

But it is clear enough by Nicolò’s tight lips and tense shoulders he is not fooled. His gaze is razor sharp as he stares Yusuf down, jaw clenched.

Yusuf meets his eyes without blinking. The air in between is pulled taut like the strained string of a harp.

“Katerina,” Nicolò barks, not taking his eyes from Yusuf. “Sebastien asks for you.”

“Sebastien? He never-”

His gaze snaps to her sharply. She pales and nods. She stands up, her back straight and chin up. She bows slightly for Yusuf. “Yusuf,” she says in goodbye and leaves.

“Close the door,” Nicolò calls to the servant as soon as she’s gone. 

For an eternity, Nicolò simply stands there with his hands behind his back and his upper lip pulled in contempt as he looks Yusuf up and down. 

Yusuf bears his scrutinizing gaze, holding it as best as he can. This man is cold inside and out, he thinks, nothing but a shell of ice. Still, he is a prince, and Yusuf can’t afford it to piss princes off. Especially if they have the power to hurt Catherine. He has to do what he can to protect her.

“Your Highness,” he says, “I’m afraid this is all a misunderstanding. I merely wanted to-”

“I do not,” Nicolò interrupts pointedly, “wish to hear your excuses, _Yusuf_.” The way he spits out his name, as if it’s the most rancid thing he has ever tasted. (Not how it should. Not how he want-) “I know what I saw and I know it will not happen again. For if it does, I will make sure you never set foot in this palace or anywhere in this kingdom ever again. Am I making myself clear?”

“What? You can’t do that!”

“I can and I will,” Nicolò bites.

Yusuf huffs out a bitter laugh. “You’re a very pathetic man, you know that?” He closes the distance between them. “Catherine sees it too. She sees right through your noble facade. God, you don’t deserve her.” They are standing chest to chest now, Yusuf stares him down and makes sure Nicolò can see on his face what he really thinks of him. (No, he really thinks-) “You don’t even care for her,” he continues, “You don’t love her.”

(Please tell me you don’t, his eyes plead.) 

_Silent!_

Nicolò’s mouth curls up in the most frightening smile Yusuf has ever seen as his cold blue eyes stay threateningly menacing. Yusuf stifles the urge to flinch.

“Let me give you some piece of advice,” Nicolò snarls through gritted teeth, poking a finger in Yusuf’s chest. “Stay out of things you do not understand. And do not touch Katerina again, or I will make you regret it. Consider that a promise.”

With a last painful poke, he turns around and heads for the door. In the doorway, he looks over his shoulder, his mouth and nose pulled in disdain. “You do not need to return tomorrow. We have other matters to attend to. We will call upon you when you can come back. I suggest you utilize the time to reflect on our conversation and your behaviour. Goodbye, mister al-Kaysani.”

The door falls closed behind him, leaving Yusuf paralysed in that sunlit room.

***

Yusuf can’t sleep. He keeps seeing Catherine’s eyes, keeps feeling her breath ghosting his face as they inch closer to one another. How his heart leaped, how he had been so close until the door opened and ruined everything. _Stay out of things you do not understand. And do not touch Katerina again, or I will make you regret it._

With a sigh, he turns on his other side. Would Catherine be suffering the same right now? Tossing and turning while repeating everything in her mind? What would Nicolò have done with her afterwards? Would he yell at her? Would he get aggressive with her? Nicolò didn’t strike him as someone who would resort to violence, not against a woman. But then he remembers his skill with his sword, the white-hot fury in his eyes earlier. Who knows what he is capable of when angered.

Yusuf sits upright. He has to see her right this instant and make sure she’s alright.

He dresses and makes his way to the palace. He climbs over the wall when the guards have passed, landing not so comfortably on the other side, but he stands up and limps on. 

He follows the shadows and makes his way towards the west wing. The windows of the palace are all dark and it’s eerily quiet around. 

“Catherine,” he whispers hard as soon as he has reached the balcony of her room. When no answer comes, he tries again, louder this time, and another time when she still hasn’t heard.

A light flickers to life inside and Yusuf holds his breath. A figure in a nightgown and a robe thrown hastily around her shoulders appears in the window. When she catches sight of Yusuf, she quickly opens it and steps to the balustrade.

“Yusuf, what are you doing here? It’s dangerous!” she says, trying to keep her voice down.

“I had to see you.” Even now, in the dead of night awoken from sleep, she looks like an angel. 

Catherine looks around anxiously. “If he sees you, he will-”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Yusuf cuts in. He takes a step closer. “I wanted to make sure you’re alright. And I wanted to apologise. For today. I didn’t mean to bring you any harm.”

“Oh Yusuf,” Catherine says and the tension in her shoulders fades away. “No need to apologise.”

A tense silence follows. Then, Yusuf says, “Nicolò, he didn’t- I hope he wasn’t too angry.”

“Oh, he was quite angry and reminded me of my place, but I made it clear I know it well enough and that I will not be talked to in such a patronizing manner. He wasn’t too happy about that either, but at least it gave him something to think about. Or so I hope.”

Yusuf smiles and feels light with relief. Ever so fierce, ever so brave. He wishes he could climb to her, but that would tempt fate too much. He didn’t want to put her in any more danger.

“I’m glad to hear you could handle him,” he says. “And I apologise as well if I made any unwanted advances.”

There is a slight pause. Catherine whispers, “They were not unwanted. Not at all.” They stare at each other and Yusuf wants nothing more than to go to her. Catherine smiles warmly at him. “Goodnight, Yusuf. I will see you soon.” And with that, she goes back inside.

Yusuf can’t keep the smile from his face when he makes his way back through the shadows. He’s so distracted by Catherine’s words that he slips when he’s climbing the wall. He can catch himself just in time before plummeting to the ground, scraping his hands in the process. But he barely even notices it and climbs further. As soon as his feet hit the ground again, he runs and runs, smiling and light as a feather.

(Nicolò is waiting on his doorstep as he reaches his house. He stands up as soon as he sees Yusuf, making way so he can open the door.

“I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting. He ehm… had some mission for me.” Yusuf gestures vaguely at the sky before opening the door and stepping inside.

“It’s alright,” Nicolò says as he slips in behind him.

Yusuf throws his coat over a chair and lights the candles. “Tea?” he asks and instead of waiting for an answer, he disappears into the kitchen. When he returns, Nicolò is still standing awkwardly in the room. 

Yusuf hands him his cup, barely meeting his eyes. “Careful, it’s hot.” He puts his own down on the desk as he starts searching for the right canvas. The air throbs with silence. It curls its fingers around Yusuf’s chest, making it hard to breathe.

He gestures for Nicolò to take a seat on the couch and moves the easel to the right position. He readies all his necessities, but when he wants to place the canvas on the easel, he’s too fidgety and knocks it over. The clattering sound is too sharp for the already throbbing air.

He curses and crouches to scramble everything together. Nicolò’s hands are already there to help him.

“Yusuf,” Nicolò says in alarm. “Yusuf, stop.” His hands reach out to Yusuf’s, gently turning them upwards to examine his palms. “Your hands.”

Only now does Yusuf notice how badly he hurt them. Blood is welling from little cuts and grazes that have opened up again in his frantic movements. As he stares at them, the pulsing pain slowly starts drifting through. 

“Come,” Nicolò says kindly but firmly as he gently tugs Yusuf to stand up. “Sit.” 

Yusuf obeys and sits on the couch. Nicolò disappears into the kitchen and returns a short while later with some clean cloths and a bowl of water. He sits down on the ground in front of Yusuf.

“Let me see,” he says and carefully starts dipping the cloth to his wounds. 

Yusuf watches his movements, resolute but tender. Then his eyes carefully wander upwards to Nicolò’s face. His features are soft in the dance of candlelight and shadows. His eyebrows are relaxed instead of drawn tightly into a scowl. His mouth is not tight or pulled up in contempt and loathing, his jaw isn’t clenched in silent anger. Yusuf can breathe a little again.

Then Nicolò looks up at him and the relief that washes over Yusuf makes him lightheaded as if he can faint at any moment. Nicolò’s ocean eyes are not cold, they are not sharp as daggers and dark with fury. They are shining softly and filled with worry and light like the Moon’s and so much more. So much more.

“What happened?” Nicolò asks.

Yusuf sighs and looks at his hands again. “I had to climb the palace wall. I slipped and-”

“You slipped? Are you hurt anywhere else?” Nicolò’s hand reaches for Yusuf’s cheek and shoulder as if to search for a hidden, far worse wound, alarm etched on his face.

“No, no. I didn’t fall. I was able to catch myself in time, hence the hands.”

Nicolò searches him for a moment longer. When he’s assured Yusuf is not secretly bleeding out, he focuses on Yusuf’s hands again. A shadow crosses his face and his eyebrows draw close in a frown. 

“Climb a palace wall,” Nicolò mumbles. “First that horrible- And now this. Has He lost His mind?”

He finishes cleaning the cuts, but doesn’t let go of Yusuf’s hands. It is quiet for a long long time before Nicolò speaks.

“I’m sorry for today,” he says. “For looking at you like that. For saying all those horrid things to you, for _threatening_ you. I can’t... ” he falters and blinks as if to ward off tears. 

Yusuf tries a sympathetic smile but he knows he fails miserably. He just feels so heavy, so damn heavy. “I know. I’m sorry too. I didn’t want to-” the words strangle his throat, the images of earlier that day sting in his mind. He closes his eyes and swallows. “I hate it. I hate how He forces me to do those- How He forces me to think these terrible things about you and hate and hurt y-”

“Shh,” Nicolò gently shushes, cupping Yusuf’s face in his hands. “Look at me, Yusuf.” Yusuf lets out a strangled sound as he hears his name in Nicolò’s beautiful, beautiful voice. It sounds right now, like a treasured secret, a song, a sacred prayer. Yusuf opens his eyes and there are Nicolò’s, intense and certain and grounding. “It is alright. It is a story.” He gently brushes Yusuf’s hair from his forehead. “It is only a story. And you are so much more than this story. So much more, Yusuf. You are a light and a gift to this world and if it takes you hating me in a mediocre story to meet you and get to know you, then I think that is a very small price to pay. I would pay it a thousand times over if it means that our paths cross. And after this is all over, you will have all the blank space you deserve to be who you want to be and to be no one else than yourself.”

Yusuf’s heart is so full, full, full. It's overflowing with Nicolò’s words and his hands touching his face and all the things he has been locking away inside of his chest. A tear slips over his cheek, but Nicolò’s thumb is there to brush it away.

It is his overflowing heart that speaks when he asks, “Will you be there with me?”

A smile appears on Nicolò’s face and it is so achingly tender it takes Yusuf’s breath away. “Would you want me to?”

“Yes,” Yusuf whispers and smiles too, tears spilling from his eyes. “Yes. With all my heart.”

“Then of course I will be there, Yusuf. Come here.” And Nicolò lifts himself up on the couch to sit next to him. He puts his arms around Yusuf and pulls him closer, guiding his head to his chest. Yusuf gratefully leans into the touch, closing his eyes as one of Nicolò’s hands slowly caresses his hair.

Time passes as they sit there holding each other. As Yusuf listens to the comforting beating of Nicolò’s heart, he wishes for time to stand still. Just take a break, only for a while. For them. 

Yusuf’s breath evens out, the painful storm inside him quiets down until there’s nothing else but Nicolò’s heart beneath his ear, his hand stroking his hair and his warm embrace around him. I could make a home out of this, he thinks. I could live here and be happy for the rest of my life.

“I thought of a new story just now,” Nicolò says, his chest vibrating beneath Yusuf’s cheek. “Would you like to hear it?”

Yusuf smiles and tightens his arms around Nicolò. “Always.”

“Once upon a time there was a man. He was a painter and loved adventure. And one day, he fell right through one of his paintings and discovered he could create his own universes with his paint.”

“What was the man’s name?”

There was a slight pause. “Joe.”

“Joe?” Yusuf can’t keep the grin out of his voice. 

“Yes, Joe. Something wrong with that?” There’s a teasing note in Nicolò’s deep voice.

“No, no. Please, continue.”

“So one day he falls through his painting of a purple meadow where a house is burning with green flames. Joe clutches the paintbrush in his hand and before he can recover from the shock of falling through _his own painting_ , before he even thinks about it, he paints water and douses the fire in the house.”

“And a man emerges,” Yusuf adds.

“A man?” Nicolò asks, his voice thick with amusement. “What kind of man?”

“The most handsome man you have ever seen. He’s-”

“Impossible,” Nicolò interrupts. “Joe is already the most handsome man I have ever seen.”

“Fine, then he’s the most handsome man _I_ have ever seen. He’s as beautiful as the Moon. People can’t help but stare at him in absolute awe while forgetting their own name, he’s that handsome. Anyway, he’s a talented swordsman and a masterful storyteller.”

“Oh, a storyteller,” Nicolò says with playful, feigned surprise. “And what is the name of this storyteller?”

“Nicky,” Yusuf says without hesitation.

Nicolò laughs, his chest shaking beneath Yusuf. Yusuf drinks in the sound, letting it fill every inch of his body. Yes, he could live from this alone.

And they continue creating the story of Joe and Nicky together for the remainder of the night and their laughter can be heard to the stars and back. They continue until they can barely keep their eyes open and they both fall asleep in the warm home of each other’s arms.)


	6. Chapter 6

(While the Narrator skips the days that Yusuf is anxiously waiting for a letter from the palace giving him permission to return, Yusuf and Nicolò can spend them all in the blank space. It feels like a little, much needed holiday. A holiday spent in laughter and endless conversation and the light of each other’s eyes. In a glimpse of their future. And for a couple of days, they can forget they aren’t already living it.

On one of these days at sunset, Nicolò is sitting in Yusuf’s open window. Yusuf stands close, studying Nicolò intently as he paints him outlined by the retreating light. Warm air smelling of grass and cooking from a couple of houses over drifts inside the room. 

Andromache, Quynh and Nile had come over for dinner, Sebastien tagging along with Nile because he had been visiting her. The pleasant and comfortable, though sometimes chaotic, atmosphere still hangs in the house from when they had been talking and joking and laughing over the almost scandalously delicious meal Nicolò had prepared. While everyone was passionately defending their opinions on the colour of numbers, Yusuf noticed Nicolò silently observing the scene. For a moment, he was afraid something was wrong, but the way the corner of Nicolò’s mouth was turned upwards in an absent-minded smile as he listened to the others and the way his shoulders and back were relaxed and comfortable as he leaned back in his chair eased Yusuf’s concern. Nicolò felt his eyes on him and they shared a private smile. But then Sebastien proclaimed six would be red and Yusuf crashed into the conversation again because six was definitely _blue_.

When they had all left, Nicolò said, “That was nice. It felt like family.”

Warmth filled Yusuf’s heart, beating it through his veins to every part of his body. “Yes, it really did.”

Yusuf dips his brush in pink for the shine of Nicolò’s hair. Nicolò asked Yusuf for a painting like the ones on his walls, vibrant and alive and right from his heart. So Yusuf is pouring his all in it. It’s not so hard to do when it’s Nicolò he’s doing it for.

“And they run into the lair of the evil sorcerer, but the evil sorcerer is waiting for them! And-”

“Nico, your _hands_.”

“Oh, right, sorry!” Nicolò says and quickly puts them in his lap again. “It is hard to talk without them, you know. I do it without thinking.”

“Yes, I know, and now you’re doing it again. Hold them still,” Yusuf says firmly, but he fails to sound really demanding because he’s smiling all the way through.

“Okay, so Joe heads in first, paintbrush in hand, but the sorcerer is waiting for him and starts chanting his spells as soon as the door opens. As the beam of crackling energy leaves the sorcerer’s staff, going right for Joe’s heart, Nicky pushes Joe away and is hit by the beam himself! And he turns into a… an ehm… how do you say it?”

He closes his eyes as he tries to come up with the word, mumbling something in a language Yusuf doesn’t understand yet. Yusuf wants to say something about Nicolò’s hand pinching the bridge of his nose when it shoots up again in excitement.

“A mouse!” Nicolò says proudly.

“A mouse?” Yusuf asks, chuckling.

“Yes, a mouse. And Joe looks at- stop laughing,” Nicolò says because the outright adorable image of Nicolò proclaiming ‘a mouse’ with such heartfelt excitement and pure joy has sent Yusuf into a fit of laughter. So much so that he’s clutching his stomach and tears are coming to his eyes. “I cannot tell you the story if you are laughing like that!” Nicolò complains. But any of his credibility is lost as Yusuf’s contagious laughter infects him too. 

“Stop it,” he tries again, but it is a hopeless case. Before long, they are both helplessly lost, only making it worse whenever they so much as glance at each other.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Yusuf manages when he finally starts to get a grip on himself again. “Man, I can’t breathe.” He tries to take a deep breath, but it’s hard when the laughter still hasn’t left him entirely. 

In the meantime, Nicolò’s laughter is also fading out and he’s wiping tears from his eyes. Yusuf watches him and his heart and chest swell and flutter and glow at the sight. 

“God I could kiss you now.” 

Nicolò instantly sobers and he turns his head to stare at Yusuf.

The world tilts beneath Yusuf’s feet and all the blood leaves his face. “Shit,” he says from the bottom of his paralysed heart, “I said that out loud, didn’t I? Nicolò, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over-”

But he can’t go any further because Nicolò has shifted so his legs hang over the ledge and he can reach out to Yusuf and pull him towards him and crush his mouth to Yusuf’s with such ferocity and clumsiness it hurts a little but Yusuf doesn’t care about all that because Nicolò’s lips are on his and he’s actually kissing Nicolò. Genuinely honestly really _kissing him_.

“I thought you would never say that,” Nicolò says as they break apart, a slight grunt in his voice.

“Nicolò,” is all Yusuf can say, because he’s forgotten every word except for this one. His heart beats it over and over again. 

“Yusuf,” Nicolò says with a smile and a warmth in his voice that make Yusuf permanently lose any ability to think.

When Nicolò kisses him again, it is better coordinated. Tender and deliberate and with all the warmth of his smile. A sigh of relief escapes Yusuf. How has he ever lived without this? 

His hands are trembling as they find the skin of Nicolò’s cheek, the back of his neck. Nicolò’s arms wrap themselves around him as if he will never let go and pull him closer. When Nicolò’s tongue grazes Yusuf’s lips, it sends a jolt through his whole body, sends his mind reeling as nothing but Nicolò’s mouth and hands make him lose all senses. He doesn’t need them when he has this.

They part, catching their breath and recovering from the intensity of it all. Their foreheads touch and their mouths still chase each other because they can’t get enough of the taste of their kiss, can’t believe yet it's theirs to share. 

Yusuf shakes beneath Nicolò’s hands roaming over his spine, travelling to his chest. He closes his eyes. Is this a dream? Is this his heart's desires manifested in his mind? Is this nothing more but a trick of the light, a vibration in the air, a smokey whisper that dissipates as soon as you name it? It must be. It must be because this happiness, this sheer joy and luck can’t be real. It’s so overwhelmingly raw and staggering it almost hurts, but only in the best possible ways. He tightens his fingers, squeezes his eyes more as to not lose his grip on this. He can’t lose this. Please, let this be more than a dream.

Nicolò’s hands tighten in response, pressing them against each other. “Yusuf,” he breathes against the corner of Yusuf’s lips. 

Yusuf kisses him again and feels Nicolò’s mouth curl in delight beneath his. He proceeds to leave kisses on his jawline, right below his ear, the length of his neck. Nicolò lets his head fall back with a slight groan as Yusuf’s leg presses between his, and his fingers bury themselves in Yusuf’s curls.

“I am yours, Yusuf, I am yours.”

“As I am yours,” Yusuf mutters into his skin. “I always was.”

And they make love that night. _We_ made love that night, my heart. How your hot skin slid against mine. How you arched beneath my mouth. How I drew moans from your lips like a prayer and you made my body sing your name like a hymn. How our panting breaths mingled and our hearts beat as one and how there was no you and no I anymore but only we, we, we. Our bodies slotted together as perfect jigsaw pieces, our souls intertwined because they are two parts of one whole. How your hair fell in your eyes and I brushed it away again and again and again because I wanted to see the sculpture that was your face in pure bliss. I wanted to see how you lost yourself in me. How you came undone beneath my hands and mouth and heart. 

But so did I. Oh, my love, so did I.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short and sweet chapter to prepare for what is about to come...
> 
> Thank you for reading, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think, I'd love to hear it! <3


	7. Chapter 7

(A couple of days later in the early morning, when the blank space is running out, Yusuf leaves Nicolò sprawled in his bed, steadily breathing in the peaceful embrace of sleep. He sits there admiring him for a while, wondering how he has ever deserved this. He gently brushes Nicolò’s hair from his face, kisses his temple and closes the door carefully behind him. He leaves a note for him on the table and goes to the palace.

When he arrives, the gates are open. There are no servants around. Well, they’re there, but they’re not servants now outside the story. They’re playing a game of croquet in the front yard and wave when they see Yusuf. Yusuf puts a hand up in greeting in return.

“She’s in the greenhouse,” one of them calls at him.

He gives them a thumbs up and thanks them before making his way to the greenhouse. 

As everything about the palace, the greenhouse is an elaborate example of opulence. It’s shaped like a small dome and harbours exotic plants from the far corners of the Narrator’s imagination. It’s also close to a million degrees inside. It doesn’t bother Yusuf too much, though, he has a remarkable resilience against the heat, a residue from his home country where he grew up. He knows for a fact he has never visited said country, doesn’t even know if the Narrator even bothered to shape it into being at all. He only has distant memories of it, written into his mind by the Narrator, but still he treasures them dearly in his heart. He’s the only one keeping that place alive, after all. It's as much part of him as his limbs and bones.

He walks around the greenhouse, breathing in the moist scent of nature. Butterflies flutter around his head. He should come here with Nicolò some time, he thinks, he would love it here. 

A thudding sound reaches his ears. He follows it and finds Catherine, striking away at a dummy with a shortsword. Her skin is slick with sweat, the strands of hair that have managed to escape her braid stick to her temples and cheeks. She’s not wearing one of her luxurious dresses but a practical outfit consisting of only a loose shirt and high waist trousers. She doesn’t notice Yusuf approaching, and he doesn’t disturb her.

She charges the dummy, attacking it with a series of strikes and swings and blows. It ends with her sword buried deep inside the dummy’s chest.

“You don’t make it easy on yourself fighting in this heat,” Yusuf remarks.

Her head snaps to him, shocked for a moment, but she grins when she sees it’s Yusuf. She pulls the sword from the dummy, some straw tumbling to the ground. 

“It doesn’t always have to be easy,” she says and grabs her flask from the ground. She takes a large gulp and wipes the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. Her face is red from exertion.

“You sound like Andromache.”

Her grin returns for a moment. “She taught me,” she says, shaking her sword a little and gesturing to the dummy. “Me and Nile, actually. But she’s on a trip with Quynh so I decided to practice on my own a little.”

“Seems like it’s paying off,” Yusuf says with an impressed nod.

She only smiles. “Come, let’s take a walk.” 

They stroll around for a while. She tells him about the building and various species of plants she likes. He listens with interest and asks questions in return. After a while, they sit down on a marble bench and watch the butterflies dance between the greenery. 

“How’ve you been?” Yusuf asks after some time.

“Alright,” Catherine answers, nodding to herself. “I’m glad we could take a break for a moment.”

“Not a fan of the story either?” Yusuf leans back against the back of the bench. Catherine is leaning forward with her arms on her knees. Very unladylike, but it suits her, makes her more real. More like a person who's comfortable in their own skin.

Catherine glances at him with an apologetic smile before looking at her fiddling hands. “Not really. I mean, it’s not you, you’re wonderful. And Nicolò is a nice guy, too, but…” 

“But you want more.”

“Yes!” she exclaims, “I want to be more than just some princess who’s only there to look pretty and be an object to admire and be conquered which is then written off as love. I want more than this agonizing… passivity!" 

Their chains and frustrations aren't the same, but Yusuf understands exactly what she means. 

"If you could choose," he says, thinking of the world Nicolò has built for them to control, "if you had the power to be in charge of your own story, what would you want?" 

Catherine is silent for a long time, considering her answer. "I'd like to be a pirate," she says and a smile appears around her mouth at the thought. "Going on adventures around the world and beyond. Andromache told me about some of her old stories. She and Quynh were so fierce, so invincible."

Yusuf had heard the tales as well, some his mind could barely grasp. It wasn't easy to get important roles in new stories, but somehow Andromache and Quynh had featured in more than anyone could imagine, always together. Something had happened in one of their latest stories, though. Something with an iron coffin and the bottom of the sea and a particularly cruel Narrator. Quynh almost didn't make it to the blank space at the end, but Andromache saved her. They decided to turn to the scenery of stories afterwards, especially Quynh, and lived their lives in quiet peace and each other's love.

"That's what I want. Not to be the upteenth damsel in distress. I want to mean something."

Yusuf reaches out and softly squeezes her shoulder. She smiles and puts her hand over his in silent gratitude.

"I take it you won't stay here then when it's all over," he says. 

They have a choice once the story is finished. They can either stay and live in the blank space, tied to this world their Narrator created and abandoned. Or they can move on to another story. But it's not as easy as that. They say being rewritten is painful, agonizing. They say Narrators don't always like secondhand characters and barely use them for protagonists. They can't knead them well enough, They can't wipe out the traces of their previous lives and stories as well as They'd like, which leaves the characters unpredictable. And there's nothing a Narrator hates more than an unpredictable character. Though, Yusuf thinks in amusement, even new characters rebel from time to time. 

"No," Catherine says intensely, "No, I have to take the risk." She relaxes her clenched jaw. "And what about you? Will you stay?"

Yusuf doesn't have to think long about the question. "Yes, I think I will."

Catherine considers him for a moment. Her mouth quirks up in a soft smile. "You’re in love with him, aren’t you?"

Yusuf feels his cheeks heat up, his heart somersaulting in his chest. His involuntary smile answers her question.

"He should have made this story about you two," she says and shakes her head. "Would have been much more convincing. And more interesting. He really is quite incompetent if you think about it. It's almost pitiful."

Yusuf laughs at that. "Yes, yes, I suppose He is. It's sad. He doesn't even know His own characters. Not at all. At the ball, he made me drink champagne and-"

"And you don't like champagne?" Catherine asks knowingly.

"It's fucking disgusting!" Yusuf says with every fibre of his being. "Oh god, it feels good to swear. Fuck!"

Catherine laughs, and it's nothing like her melodious giggle from when she's Catherine-the-princess but a boisterous, loud belly laugh. "Fuuuuuuck!" she screams. And laughs harder. "Fuck you!" And flips her middle finger to the air. 

Yusuf laughs too and joins her. When they both got the swearing and laughing out of their system, they sit in companionable silence. 

"It won't be long now," Yusuf says after a while. "Soon, you'll roam all the seas that have yet to be invented. And you'll be invincible. Only a little while longer."

Catherine smiles to herself. "Thank you, Yusuf. I'm glad it was you and Nicolò at my side in this story. And I'm glad you found each other in this mess."

"Me too," Yusuf says and can't keep the love he feels for that man from his voice. He doesn't want to hide it any longer, not here. "Me too.")

***

(When he comes home, Nicolò is snuggled up on the couch with a book, wearing nothing but one of Yusuf's long, paint-stained shirts. The slanting sun embraces him in gold and Yusuf feels as warm as its glow.

"Won't you come and join me, my heart?" Nicolò asks without taking his eyes from the book. 

How can Yusuf deny such a request? 

Still, he stays where he is, admiring the view. The words find his mouth spontaneously, speaking them is as easy as breathing, it's a wonder he hasn't spoken them sooner. He says, "I love you, you know."

Nicolò blinks at his book for a moment before looking up. A heartbeat passes, then Nicolò says, "And I love you." 

The whole world shifts into place. In that moment, they have discovered the truth of this universe, its most fundamental law that underlies all else. Everything is right, everything is as it should be. They are here, they are together, they are home.

Yusuf closes the distance between them. Nicolò puts the book aside to welcome Yusuf in his lap. 

“You know what I also love?” Yusuf asks as he straddles Nicolò, playing with the drawstring of his shirt Nicolò’s wearing. He brushes his nose against Nicolò’s cheek, his lips ghosting his jawline. 

“Tell me,” Nicolò says in a low, slightly rough voice.

Yusuf lets his hand wander down over Nicolò’s chest teasingly, down down down to where he finds him waiting in interest. He smiles against Nicolò’s throat as he notices how his breath hitches. 

Nicolò reaches for the hem of his shirt to pull it off, but Yusuf stops him. “Leave it on,” he says in his ear. He leans back to look Nicolò in the eye. A blush already dusts his cheeks and his mouth is slightly open in undeniable desire. Yusuf kisses him, and Nicolò sighs into it, his whole body melting against Yusuf. 

Yes, Yusuf thinks with a thrill that encompasses his entire body, this is the truth of his universe. This is its ever-beating heart.

Later, when they have moved to the bed, they lie in the afterglow of a day spent in love, skin on skin with sheets and legs tangled. Nicolò’s head rests on Yusuf’s chest and Yusuf strokes through his hair, massaging his scalp. He thinks Nicolò has drifted off already, lulled to sleep by his calm, repetitive movements and the swaying rise and fall of his chest. He feels sleep pull at him as well, making his eyelids heavy and his mind slow and fuzzy. But he doesn’t want to give in just yet. Tomorrow, the Narrator will return and he isn't ready yet to let go of this moment. 

Nicolò’s voice startles him, “How do you think it will end?”

Yusuf’s fingers pause for a moment in Nicolò’s hair. Then they resume. “I suppose we will have another major fight. Or maybe you and Catherine will. And she’ll choose me and maybe we'll run away and there will be a vague reference to a wedding and a life lived happily ever after.”

Nicolò is quiet again. His arm tightens ever so slightly around Yusuf’s waist, barely noticeable. 

He asks very softly, “Do you think I will die?”

Yusuf falls silent. His mind deflects the question, doesn’t even allow to consider it. He can barely breathe.

“Maybe I fall," Nicolò continues. "From a balcony or a roof, slipping because it's raining. Maybe there's a storm and our argument has chased us outside and a tree is struck by lightning and crashes right on top of me. Maybe it is my own-"

"Stop." The word comes out strangled. Yusuf squeezes his eyes shut, they sting with tears seeking to escape. His fingers cling tightly to Nicolò's hair. It probably hurts. He takes a deep, shaking breath, swallowing around the tightness in his throat, forcing himself to relax his hands and makes them caress away the pain he has unwillingly caused. "Don't say such things. Please." 

Nicolò lifts his head from Yusuf's chest. A hand touches his cheek, a thumb brushes away the tear that slipped out. Yusuf turns his head to press a kiss on the hand's palm, and the hand smoothes the frown from his brow. 

"We have to prepare for the worst, my love," Nicolò says.

Yusuf opens his eyes. On Nicolò's face, he can read it hurts him too. His jaw is tense, his lips tight, his eyes shining. But the set of his eyebrows is determined. 

Yusuf knows he's right. He knows. Still, he tries, "That's not the Narrator's style. He wouldn't be able to tell it, He's not capable. He wouldn't do-"

"Yusuf, look at me." 

Yusuf does, holding his breath to keep the growing sobs at bay. He's unable to hold back his tears, though. 

"Oh, my heart, I'm sorry," Nicolò whispers, his own voice thick as well. "I did not want to hurt you. I just do not want the agony of the shock added to your grief if it should come to pass. I do not want you hurting more than you have to."

As if seeing Nicolò die would not already be the greatest agony in existence. Even if it's only in a story and there's nothing to assume Nicolò won't make it to the blank space. 

Still. There's always that slight, excruciating chance he might not.

Yusuf takes Nicolò's hand on his chest and holds it tightly. "I will follow you."

Nicolò opens his mouth to protest. Yusuf knows what he will say. That it’s not possible. That the Narrator won't let him. That there is absolutely no guarantee he will make it to the blank space since no one has ever willingly died against the will of their Narrator.

Yusuf kisses his protests away. Lets his lips tell him without words that he won't leave his side. Not even in death, not even at the end of the world. That his only universe is the one where Nicolò is too. 

He kisses Nicolò's cheeks, where silent tears are rolling down. Nicolò holds him as if he's drowning and Yusuf is the only one holding him afloat. 

They hold on tight, drying each other's tears, caressing and kissing each other's hurt away. They talk of other matters. Of Nicolò's portrait and Nile's excitement when Yusuf had promised her to give her some art lessons and some new book recommendations Sebastien has given Nicolò and what Joe and Nicky are doing in their own pocket universes. 

Eventually, gentle sleep closes their eyes and lets them drift away in each other’s arms.)

Many nights after he sneaked into the palace gardens to visit Catherine, Yusuf has a nightmare.

(Oh no.)

He dreams of cold, seething eyes, huge and unblinking. He wants to run away, but finds his feet frozen to the floor. The cold bites and cuts in his skin like a thousand knives. (Wake-) It creeps up along his legs, steady and agonizing. He wants to scream but he can't open his mouth. His lungs are bursting and the cold crawls up and up and up. 

Someone else is screaming now. Catherine.

Yusuf hits and grabs at the ice, desperately trying to free himself. He ignores the burning of his fingers, the-

_What is this?_

_I leave you alone for one second and this is what you do? This?_

(You've come too soon. The blank space, it was-)

_I come when I damn well please. You have gone behind my back and undermined the very core this story is built upon? And you were planning to_ hide it from me _? You are only here because of me!_

(You may be our creator, but you cannot keep us chained to your words. In the blank space we-)

_The blank space doesn't exist! It's a nothing-world, a void! Oh, you really thought you could come and hide in this sweet little house and fall in love? Well, guess what? None of that exists, none of that is real. My word is the only Truth. There's no blank space, there's no house and there's no love. You understand? You do not love each other. You hate each other to the bone._

_And I will prove it._

_Here, let's take the Moon and fling it away. Look, it's day without any blank space!_

_Now let's take this despicable prince and put him where he belongs._

(No, Nicolò! What have You-)

_Don't get so wound up, you'll meet him soon enough._

_Oh! Do you hear that, my dearest Yusuf? A knock on the door!_

_Yes, go and open it. All the while you still see those cold, hateful eyes, you still feel your skin scorching with frost, you still hear the screams of your only love._

_There's an armoured knight in front of your door. He wears Nicolò's emblem and only the thought of him makes your teeth clench and a simmering disgust pool in your stomach._

(No. No!)

Yes! _And listen closely now, my painter, my beloved protagonist, because the knight speaks._

"On the grounds of high treason, Prince Nicolò di Genova challenges you to a duel. You're to meet him at the clearing in the woods at sundown."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it and don't hesitate to let me know what you think so far! <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated the tags, so for those who like to be prepared, be sure to go take a look!

When the sun is starting its descent, Yusuf makes his way to the woods. He has never duelled before, doesn’t even own a weapon. Andromache has given him one from her workshop, a scimitar. He faintly remembers his uncle owning one. Andromache has shown him some tricks and techniques as well, but there was too little time. Before he left, she pulled him close and said, “See you tomorrow.”

Yusuf isn’t too certain about tomorrow. This is the thing about duels: they always end in

(Don’t say it)

death.

The thought of fleeing has crossed his mind for a fleeting instant, but he dismissed it just as soon. If he fled, he would be hunted down. If he fled, Catherine would stay in the hands of that cruel, cruel man. If he fled, he would never forgive himself for abandoning her. So he tightens the grip on his scimitar and walks on. 

The clouds have gathered as well to watch what is about to come, enveloping the yawning world in premature darkness. Light drops of rain fall on Yusuf’s skin by the time he reaches the forest. 

Nicolò is already waiting for him at the clearing, longsword in hand. A gruesome shiver runs down Yusuf’s spine at the sight of him. Nicolò's impassive face is coated with the most subtle layer of hatred, making it all the more frightening. Behind him, three knights are standing at the ready. 

“You have come,” Nicolò says. 

Instead of answering, Yusuf stands still at the edge of the clearing, planting his feet firmly into the ground. The rain is heavier now, while thunder rumbles ominously and Yusuf’s heart pounds in answer. Cold sweat breaks out in his palms and on his back, but he doesn’t let it show. 

“Shall we get this over with then?” Yusuf says and is grateful his voice doesn’t waver. 

A malicious smile crosses Nicolò’s face. (No, you’re wrong. This isn’t how it’s supposed to-) “I thought you would never ask,” he says.

They close the distance between each other. One of the knights shows them their marks. As they wait for his signal to start, dread pools in Yusuf’s stomach. He looks into Nicolò’s eyes and (wants nothing more than to throw his scimitar as far away as possible and run to him and kiss him and tell him-) sees nothing but a man without mercy. Without a hea-

(The knight gives the signal.)

They charge. Yusuf’s mind desperately grasps at the things Andromache showed him, but Nicolò is already upon him, bringing down his sword. Yusuf only barely manages to duck away and the sword sweeps an inch from his ear.

Nicolò is relentless, already changing the direction of his weapon in deadly precision. Yusuf lifts his scimitar and deflects the sword from his chest to his arm. It cuts in his flesh and he cries out. He has no time to recover, though, already he has to jump backwards from another swing. 

The rain is pouring down by now, thunder bellowing louder and louder overhead. He can barely see anything, but the adrenaline and his instinct to survive somehow manage to keep him on his feet. Left, right, jump, duck. Slash in his side.

He doubles over and grits his teeth through the pain. 

Nicolò pauses, ready to strike again any moment. He’s breathing a little harder than usual, but it’s nothing compared to Yusuf’s panting. 

“Is this all you’ve got?” Nicolò asks, a venomous tone in his voice. He tilts his head to the side, a mocking smile on his face and a shine of madness in his eyes. “I almost pity you.”

(That’s not him. That’s not him.)

_Oh, it is._ The tip of his tongue glides over his teeth as he considers what he will do with the wounded man before him. 

Yusuf tightens his grip on his scimitar and attacks. Nicolò can dodge it easily, though there is a slight trace of surprise on his face. He lifts his sword to let it come down on Yusuf and Yusuf is almost certain he will not get away in time and-

“Nicolò, stop!” The scream pierces the sky like lightning, tearing right through the thunder.

Catherine.

Nicolò startles and his sword changes course. Yusuf, ignited by that sweet sweet voice that drips like honey on his skin, takes his chance (no please, no don’t make me-) and stabs Nicolò. 

I said he _stabs_ Nicolò. 

(No. No I don’t. want- no!)

_Hm I was going for the chest, but we can make the leg work, too._

(I’m sorry, my love, I’m sorry.)

_Oh, shut up._

Nicolò cries out, more out of shock than anything else. His blazing eyes land on Yusuf again, there’s no mocking in them anymore, only the rage of a lion that has smelled blood.

Before Nicolò can recover from the shock of being wounded, Yusuf strikes again. Now in the- in the-

In the-

_Stop it! Stop resisting me! You are_ my _character, you have to do as I say._

(How can I? How can I do what you say when you’re forcing me to do such horrible things? You’re asking me to stab the light of my eyes, the breath in my lungs, the ground beneath my feet. You’re asking me to wound the man who hung the Sun back in my sky, whose unfathomable kindness moves me every day and whose love I treasure like a miracle and I try to return with everything I have. This man means more to me than you could ever put into words, even if you had ink to last you for eternity. _He_ should have told this story. For he is a born storyteller and he should have been in charge of his own. And, oh stars up above, I would let him be in charge of mine, for I know in his hands it would become something magnificent beyond anything this world has ever known.)

_How very touching. But you are forgetting one thing. I am the master of this story, I am the one and only Narrator. And you, my dear ungrateful protagonist, will do. As. I. Say._

Yusuf thrusts his scimitar forward-

(His eyes meet Nicolò’s-)

and thrusts it-

(I will follow you, they say-)

straight into-

(take me with you, my heart.)

his chest.

Nicolò can’t even cry out. There’s only a horrible choking sound, his face distorted in shock and pain and disbelief. Then, all goes slack and he crumples to the ground.

(The world breaks beneath Yusuf’s feet. The sky crashes down upon him and he falls to his knees under the jagged shards. Only now does he notice the sword sticking from his stomach, only now does he feel the burning pain spreading like venom to the rest of his body. It’s a relief, that pain. It’s comprehensible. Simple. He smiles, barely tasting the metallic blood in his mouth. His stiff fingers find the hilt of the sword. “I am coming, my love," he whispers, "thank you." And he thrusts.)

_No._

_No! What have you done? This can’t be. This can’t-_

_This is not how it ends. This is not what happens. Stand up, you fool! Stand up! I am the Narrator. I decide what happens and I decide who lives or dies! I am the Creator and the God and the Reaper, I am the damn Narrator of this damn story! Stand up! Stand. up._

_Please, stand up._

***

The beams of the sun reach through the windows like arms of angels. Catherine sits in her chair, staring at the easel and the back of the canvas. She tries not to see the empty spot behind it. She tries not to think of the thunder and a man falling to the ground and warm blood on her cold, trembling hands. Of dark eyes, unseeing, without-

She lets out a shaky breath and wipes the escaped tears from her cheeks. She looks outside, where the trees rustle and the butterflies fly as if everything is still the same. As if he’s still here.

She stands up and makes her way to the other side of the canvas. Her image is staring back at her, lovelier than any mirror shows her. She reaches out her hand and her fingers hover over the paint, over his every brush stroke. A sob escapes her and the pain in her chest is so profound she slowly sinks to her knees.

This wasn’t supposed to be a tragedy. This was supposed to be a fairy tale. A happily ever after. A dream come true. 

But life is not a fairy tale and dreams can turn to nightmares.

When all her tears have left her, she looks up at the painting again. She sees his image standing right beside it, smiling at her and holding out his hand to help her up. She takes it and he pulls her close and they dance together in her memory until the Sun has left the world in darkness.

(When the Narrator has left the story, Catherine looks outside at the full Moon silently watching over the world. She smiles. 

”Thank you. For everything. Now you can finally be happy. Now we are finally fucking free.”

She laughs, turns around and runs.)

***

(Did you like it, my love? Did you like it as much as my story about the Sun and the Moon? Or as the one about Joe and Nicky we created together?

I have tried to do you justice, my love. To tell the true story within the false. Of what happened between the lines. Of how you defied your own Creator in the name of your own integrity and your immeasurable kindness and infinite love. Even if that defiance meant it might cost you your own life.

My heart, I am waiting for you. Ever since I died, I have been waiting for you. I reached the blank space in the blink of an eye, feeling my life leave me on the page and drawing breath on the next. I know you have followed me. I have taken you with me like you asked. Like you wanted. Have I made a terrible mistake? Are you still comi-

Yes. You are coming. You are, you are, you are for otherwise I would not be here either. The Moon needs their Sun to shine.

Nile has joined me for a while. She has sat beside me and given me food to chew on and an arm around my back and a head gently resting on my shoulder to protect my bones from the sharp coldness of uncertainty. Sebastien came by too, reading me the first chapter of his favourite book, offering me a sip of his flask, granting his steady, grounding presence to draw strength from. Andromache and Quynh came as well, with understanding eyes and hands to hold and a beautifully crafted music box that played a hopeful song from when we met at the masquerade. 

Do you remember that night, my light? On the balcony with our masks still on? How I wished I could see the stars dancing in your eyes back then. But your smile was already enough to lighten up the whole garden. 

How I wish now to see that smile again. Come quickly, will you, my love? The blank space is so empty without you. Your laughter and your jokes and your whisperings in my ear. Your scent of charcoal and paint and cedar. Your fingers brushing my cheeks and your arms tightly around me and your lips grazing my skin. Your hands, always stained and busy, your eyes- your-

I’m sorry, my light. My heart aches too much. I ache too much. All over, all over, all over. I ache too much without you, my heart.

I try to ignore it, to soothe it with the future. Soon, we will have eternity to talk and kiss and live. We will have it all to ourselves. What will we do with it? Will we fill it with stories and paintings to fall through and nights spent with family and love? I would like that, my life. And I know you do, too. 

Come quickly now, so we can begin our eternity. Even with all the time in the world, I do not want to waste another second without you.

I will follow you, you said. I will follow you.

I cling to those words, keep my fingers wrapped around them airtight and hold them close to my chest. With every passing minute, they dig deeper into my skin.

Sometimes I think I see you in the distance, running towards me. But it's always something else, a bird, a tree, a shadow. 

Even now, I think I see you. I see your curly hair, the outline of your broad shoulders, the loose clothes you prefer to wear. As I imagine you coming closer, more of you appears, your beard, your necklace, your hands pumping by your sides as you run. You come so close it's almost painful in how much detail I see you. The freckles on your nose, the crinkles around your eyes, the gentle curve of your smiling mouth.

"Nicolò," you say with a strained voice and your hand cups my cheek and it is _you_. 

It is you.

You came.

My love, my life, my all, you came!

The ground slips from beneath me, but you are there to catch me. You are there there there, all around me. I cry and I touch you anywhere my grasping hands can reach and I kiss you as I shudder and shake and breathe, really breathe for the first time since I died. And you kiss me with equal fervour and brush my hair from my eyes and repeat my name over and over again like a victory.

When our frantic reunion has eased and the Sun silently joins the Moon in the sky, you smile and you say, "Come, my love, let us create our own story now.")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I have. And please don't hesitate to leave a comment, I'd love love love to hear your thoughts! <3


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